


Addicted

by hajiimee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, also hi yes im in rarepair hell enjoy this bokuoi, it has a cute ending, it started off as angst but i tried to make it happy because it's tias birthday not funeral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6368284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hajiimee/pseuds/hajiimee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa Tooru was an addict. </p>
<p>The burn thrummed through his veins, ever present, constantly playing at the back of his mind and trying to tempt him to give in, to succumb to, what he knew was, an unhealthy habit and throw everything out of the window and just fall. He’d done it before – he’d let darkness seep in and cloud his judgement, and he’d let the exhaustion and the ache and become a familiarity. A welcoming home, embracing him with open arms and whispering, voice an acid hiss, that he needed this, he wanted this, that without it, he’d never succeed. And he needed to succeed.</p>
<p>He’d gotten clean. </p>
<p>He worked hard, but he didn’t work too hard. He strived, but he didn’t overreach. </p>
<p>He fell short.</p>
<p>Oikawa Tooru was an addict, and Bokuto Koutarou was his dealer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addicted

Oikawa Tooru was an addict.

The burn thrummed through his veins, ever present, constantly playing at the back of his mind and trying to tempt him to give in, to succumb to, what he knew was, an unhealthy habit and throw everything out of the window and just _fall_. He’d done it before – he’d let darkness seep in and cloud his judgement, and he’d let the exhaustion and the ache and become a familiarity. A welcoming home, embracing him with open arms and whispering, voice an acid hiss, that he needed this, he wanted this, that without it, he’d never succeed. And he _needed_ to succeed. Rehab had come in the form of skull cracking against his nose, the taste of blood on his tongue the overdose he needed to bring everything crashing down upon him in and angered berating and world jarring words.

He’d gotten clean.

He worked hard, but he didn’t work too hard. He strived, but he didn’t overreach.

He fell short.

He _always_ fell short.

Oikawa Tooru was an addict, and Bokuto Koutarou was his dealer.

He was the personification of an energy drink, brimming with exuberance and unrelenting drive. His muscles would twitch, but never spasm, and his chest would heave, but he would never struggle to draw in more oxygen, and keep going, keep going, keep going. Oikawa was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Without Iwaizumi there to grab the back of his t-shirt and keep him from tipping over the edge, there was nothing stopping him from taking the plunge and letting the dark swallow him whole once more.

It took four steps, four words – _I’ll practice with you._

Oikawa slipped out of reach.

They were a dangerous mix – two people who didn’t know when to quit. Each exclamation that punctuated Bokuto’s texts symbolised a thud of Oikawa’s heart as is pressed against his lungs, making his breathing staggered and painful. He needed this. The want overpowered the guilt – overpowered his logic, overpowered the throbbing in his knee telling him no more, no more, no more. The hiss was back, breath like needles against his ear, telling him how this was the only way, how without it, he’ll be tossed aside again.

When he texted Iwaizumi goodnight, it hurt.

When he turned his phone off, slipping it into his bag and heading back onto the court, it killed.

When he and Bokuto managed to get a quick right, and Bokuto praised him, the words tumbling from his mouth in sincere, genuine cascades, telling him how close they are to nailing this, and how much better than the team’s official setter Oikawa was, he felt _alive_. Bokuto didn’t smile, he grinned, all teeth and all undiluted joy, and Oikawa merely tightened his brace, grabbed another ball, and smiled a perfectly practiced smile.

“One more?”

Bokuto lit up.

Oikawa’s knee burned.

“Holy shit, did you see that? That was awesome!” Bokuto’s hair had begun to droop from the sweat, the spikes wilting at the tips. Beads dripped down his face and neck, and his chest rose and fell in deep, heavy breaths, shoulders moving in a steady rhythm along with. Despite the dark of night outside the gym, his smile was a million watts, eyes wide and excited, and cheeks flushed in a warm, red hue from the hours of exertion. “You really are amazing, Oikawa!”

Oikawa’s breathing raked through his lungs, and he bowed his head, everything throbbing. Brown strands were soaked through with sweat, his left knee digging into the gym floor whilst his right stayed bent and upright. His fingers dug into his brace, gripping it tight, clawing underneath the hem. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, trying to divert the pain away from his knee. It didn’t work. Bokuto was still staring at the other side of the net, where the ball had landed, and he was still praising Oikawa, each compliment stinging more than the last.

“One mo–” The words died on Bokuto’s lips, gaze finally landing on Oikawa. His body tensed, eyes widening and expression faltering, smile twitching before dropping slowly. “Oikawa?” Oikawa squeezed his eyes closed in response, biting down on his lip harder.

“One more.” He bit out, forcing himself up onto his feet. He winced, favouring his left leg, and reached out to grip onto the net for extra support. When Bokuto’s eyes flickered down to his leg, he felt exposed, and he repeated it again, trying to draw his attention away, away, away. “One more. Get me a ball.”

“Oikawa-”

“ _One more_.”

For a moment, the only sounds in the gym were their disjointed, panted breaths, both so out of sync.

“No.”

Oikawa froze, eyes widening. Bokuto was looking at him with an expression that screamed pity, and stubborn embarrassment and frustration boiled beneath the surface of Oikawa’s skin. He clenched his jaw, meeting Bokuto’s soft gaze with narrowed eyes.

“Excuse me?” He asked, voice tight.

“No.” Bokuto repeated. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed loud and clear inside Oikawa’s skull none the less, causing his head to throb in a dull ache. “No more.” Oikawa felt as if he had been doused in cold water, the fire in his veins freezing in an instant, the flame dying in a second. He squared his shoulders, struggling to school his expression, chewing on the inside of his lips and trying to will the trembles from his body. His eyes stung, and his knuckles were white with how tight his hold had become, the net dicking into his palm and fingers.

“Right.”

He looked away, swallowing thickly and finding his throat clogged and dry. He took slow breaths, before letting his fingers loosen their hold, hand slowly dropping so that his hand hung at his side, swinging. He didn’t once look back to Bokuto, the look on his face – that concern, that pity, that _sympathy_ making him feel nauseous and _small_.

When he walked, it was with a limp.

Oikawa Tooru was an addict.

Oikawa Tooru was an addict, and Bokuto Koutarou was his dealer.

They didn’t talk for two weeks.

The withdrawal was crushing.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“I’m sorry.” Oikawa froze just outside the doorway, eyes wide as he looked over his shoulder. Bokuto’s calloused fingers had grabbed the back of his shirt, halting him in his tracks. Brown eyes trailed upwards, over the knuckles, the wrist, the forearm, until eventually they reached Bokuto’s face. It was ridden with guilt, his eyes like a kicked puppies, a look that Oikawa had thought he himself had perfected, but suddenly realised he wasn’t even close.

“You’re sorry?”

“I don’t know when to stop. I’ve been told I can go too far. I didn’t realise- I didn’t realise it was hurting you. I didn’t realise you’d gotten hurt.” Oikawa tensed, expression conflicted, contorting his features. “How bad is it? Your knee?” The words jarred Oikawa back, and he turned his head away, pulling his shirt out of Bokuto’s grip.

“My knee’s fine.”

“You were limping.”

“Am I now?”

Bokuto paused.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I was already injured. It was my fault.”

Oikawa shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his bag, beginning to walk again, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Footsteps followed him, and Oikawa could feel the space between them – not enough that Bokuto fell far behind, but enough that Oikawa felt cold, the shreds of friendship they’d begun to weave together fraying, falling apart at the seams.

“It still hurts, though, doesn’t it? You haven’t been at practice. Does that mean it’s bad?”

Oikawa didn’t answer. Bokuto persisted.

“Are you going to physical therapy for it? Or is it just a wait and let it heal thing? How long do you think you’ll be gone for? A couple more days? A week? A month?”

At that, Oikawa stopped walking again, allowing Bokuto to catch up to him, joining him by his side. He looked at the other man with a mildly annoyed expression, lips drawn into a thin line. Bokuto stopped walking too as soon as he realised that Oikawa was no longer ahead of him. He backtracked a couple of steps, raising one bushy eyebrow at his teammate. His head was cocked slightly in question, and in the back of Oikawa’s mind he made the connection between the movement and that of an owl, the resemblance clicking into place.

“Why are you so concerned with my knee? I already told you it’s not your fault.”

Bokuto blinked, before he grinned, the expression slightly lopsided and hesitant.

“Because I wanna know when you’ll be up to practicing with me again. Your tosses are- whoa.”

Oikawa faltered.

Then he turned, shoulders tensed and steps rigid.

“Soon.” He replied. “I’ll be up to it soon.”

Oikawa Tooru was an addict.

Oikawa Tooru was an addict, and Bokuto Koutarou was his dealer.

They weren’t good for each other at all.

Oikawa’s steps were heavy, as if there was lead in his shoes, as he walked away from Bokuto, the burn back in his veins, and the hiss back in his ear, louder than ever. He listened to it, and let it lead him, guide him, push him down that dark, narrow path, only this time, Bokuto’s grin was at the other end, a blinding light in the shadows.

He kept walking.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“How’s your knee? Does it hurt? Should we stop?” Bokuto yelped as a ball narrowly missed his face, ducking out of the way quickly. He looked at Oikawa in shock, before his face twisted into a frown, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing into an annoyed pout. “Hey! What the hell, Oikawa?”

“Stop asking about my knee, we’ve only been practicing for half an hour. I’m _fine_.” Oikawa grabbed another ball and held it up, one hand resting on his hip. Bokuto got into a defensive stance, ready to dive out of the way of Oikawa’s way too accurate aim once again.

“It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“It doesn’t hurt _me_ , but it might hurt _you_ if you don’t shut up.” Oikawa removed the hand from his hip, switching to holding the ball in both of them instead. He spun it repetitively, raising an eyebrow at Bokuto. “Another go?”

Bokuto hesitated. Then he grinned.

“Hell yeah, hit me with your best toss.”

“Are you implying that I don’t _always_?”

Bokuto’s laugh was loud, and it echoed through the gym and through Oikawa’s every bone. A grin twitched at his lips, and he threw the ball, a satisfying smack resounding in his ears as it landed on the other side of the court. Bokuto cheered, both arms in the air, and Oikawa scoffed, rolling his eyes before grabbing another ball.

“Again?”

Again.

Again.

_Again_.

The smack became a background noise to Bokuto’s praise, and his laugh, and his cheers, his voice wrapping around Oikawa and smothering him. Brown eyes stopped following the spikes, and started following the source of the overwhelming noise, instead, lips quirking not at their success, but at the look of pure pride and excitement on Bokuto’s face. He grabbed another ball, smiling widely at Bokuto.

“Again?”

Again.

Again.

_Again_.

Oikawa Tooru was an addict.

Oikawa Tooru was an addict, and Bokuto Koutarou was slowly becoming more than his dealer.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Oikawa winced as he was lifted onto Bokuto’s back, his knee being jogged roughly by the movement. He wrapped his arms around the others neck, pout firm and childish on his face. The gym was a mess, but they could explain why in the morning, tidying a much less prominent priority at that moment. Bokuto grunted at Oikawa’s weight on his back, and Oikawa pinched his shoulder in response, not liking the silent insinuation that he was heavy, despite knowing that it was most definitely true.

“You told me you’d tell me if your knee hurt.” Bokuto kicked the door to the gym shut behind them, struggling to lock it whilst still supporting Oikawa’s weight.

“I tell a lot of people a lot of things. Like, 90% of them are untrue.”

Bokuto huffed, shifting Oikawa as he started to walk back towards the dorms. The air was frigid, and cooled the sweat on their bodies quickly, sending a chill through their bones that had goose bumps prickling along Oikawa’s arms. He pressed closer, Bokuto’s back warm against his chest, and propped his chin on said boys’ shoulder, eyes following the movements of his teammate’s trainers. His feet were big, and so were his strides, making double the amount of distance than Oikawa would make in a single step. When he moved, Oikawa could see the edges of his shorts rid up, revealing the usually obscured tops of his knee pads. It brought a small smile to his lips.

Most things about Bokuto brought a small smile to his lips.

“You were amazing today, you know.” He whispered. He could feel Bokuto’s grin against his cheek.

“I know, right? You were amazing too, though! Like, wow, your tosses are, yeah. We make such a good team. When you become regular, Kuroo’s whiny ass ain’t gonna see what hit him!”

Oikawa smile widened.

“We’ll crush him. Iwa-Chan, too.”

“Fuck yeah, we’re gonna take the world by storm.”

Bokuto waited until they were in Oikawa’s room to set him down, carefully placing him on the bed with a gentleness that rarely ever presented itself within the ace. Oikawa’s hands stayed on Bokuto’s shoulders until the very last minute, dropping slowly, and fingertips lingering before pulling away. Bokuto turned around immediately, crouching down before Oikawa and resting his hands either side of Oikawa’s hips.

“Still hurt?”

“A bit,” Oikawa’s voice was nonchalant when he replied, and he shrugged. “But it’s nowhere near like last time.”

Bokuto’s teeth filled his whole mouth perfectly, and the light in his eyes was enough to light the world on fire.

Enough to light Oikawa on fire, as well.

“Thank God. Last time you were out of action was torture. The official setter’s tosses are shit. Can’t hit ‘em right. Don’t _feel_ right.”

Oikawa flicked his forehead, and Bokuto’s face scrunched. He rubbed at it with the butt of his hand, and in a swift movement, Oikawa pulled Bokuto’s hand away, leaning in and kissing the creases on his forehead from his contorted expression.

Bokuto’s expression fell into one of shock, and his lips formed a small ‘o’.

In a sudden surge, he pressed his lips clumsily to Oikawa’s, their noses knocking. He jolted away, a small yelp leaving his lips, and Oikawa reached out, cupping his cheeks and smooshing them, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his nose, and then another to his lips.

“Before practice tomorrow, let’s get coffee.”

The words fell easy from his lips.

Bokuto’s smile hung naturally in return.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Oikawa Tooru was an addict.

Oikawa Tooru was an addict, and Bokuto Koutarou was his drug.

**Author's Note:**

> today (or yesterday for me lmao) is tia's (@akaavshi on tumblr) birthday and lately we have been swapping bokuoi headcanons so I decided to writer her a fic as a gift and i swear i didn't mean for it to turn out this angsty rip
> 
> happy birth(angst)day tia! hope it was a good one <33


End file.
